Showing posts with label men. Show all posts
Showing posts with label men. Show all posts

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

Don't Be A Pussy When Eating Pussy



By now, I really should have learnt my lesson that nothing good can ever come from Googling my chosen blog topic. This week, I have a prime example: http://beefpattie.com/why-i-dont-eat-pussy/

Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce you to ‘Moo Cow’ and his laughable, egocentric and utterly misogynistic blog post which ultimately functions to highlight his fear of women. I’m not an angry person, but the manner in which this shame of a human being divulges his self-indulgent opinions makes me want to throw him off the edge of the Burj Khalifa. Twice. Naturally, I had to respond:

Firstly, in terms of the cleanliness of oral sex, you men can argue for as long as you like that the vagina isn’t the most delicious delicacy to have ever been sampled by your palate, but what were you expecting, really, from your private dinner for one? The Pussy is not a Michelin Star restaurant. You piss out of the end of your cock too, in case you’ve forgotten. How many times do you think we women have tasted that?! Suck it up, men. Literally. You should be ashamed of yourselves.

Moreover, I’m sure some men could choose to argue that the vagina isn’t exactly beautiful to look at, and I accept this as a fair point. Granted, it is no Mona Lisa. But have you seen your penis lately? Christ, have you seen your scrotum?! And we women have to be inches away from that thing in order to pleasure you. Talk about making sacrifices for the people you love…

Secondly, remember what your parents taught you when you were buying Christmas presents for your friends? ‘You don’t give to receive.’ This is most certainly not the case with oral sex. As my boyfriend often states when he wants some of my Nando’s, ‘sharing’s caring’. To me, completely disregarding my vagina but still expecting oral sex for yourself is an example of inequality tantamount to that of disproportionate wages and the workplace ‘glass ceiling’. Surely, allowing a man to receive, but not to give, is simply the first step is complying with a long list of other refusals. First it’s head, then it’s the dishes, and before you know it he has conveniently ‘forgotten’ to pick you up after work, leaving you to do the hour and a half walk home, wearing 5 inch heels, in a blistering snowstorm, because ‘the exercise would have done you some good, chubby.’

Thirdly, in response to ‘Moo Cow’ and his argument that nobody watches the lick out scenes in porn, I fucking do! Put your hands up if you do too! It’s the first thing I fast forward to. You know what I don’t watch, however? The part where the guy gets a blowjob and then wanks off onto the woman’s tits. That’s just dull, unexciting, and insultingly unoriginal.

In addition, yes, STI’s may be more likely to lie dormant inside the female, but does this signify that women, in general, are more likely to actually have an STI? No, it does not. In 2011, in England, there were 291 reported and recorded cases of women with syphilis. How many male cases, I hear you ask? Oh, only 2,349. Similarly, there were 14,992 recorded male cases of gonorrhoea, in comparison to the 5,192 female ones. Boom.

Finally, in response to ‘Black men don’t eat pussy’, just shut up. In 2010, it was estimated that there were almost 39 million Black Americans in the USA alone. Are you honestly trying to insist that not even one of the 39 million has ever been tempted to put his face between a woman’s legs? I don’t seem that gullible, do I?

Now, I have been very naïve in the past, I admit it. But it just simply never occurred to me that any member of the male species would detest and therefore withhold oral sex. That is, until I met James. He didn’t like it and thus point blank refused.  Not even a quick sniff in that region or a cheeky probe of the tongue. And did I justify his refusal with pathetic arguments like ‘Well… the vagina isn’t actually that clean’ or ‘Black men don’t eat pussy’ à la the idiot in the aforementioned blog post? No, I did not. I simply concluded that he was a huge wanker and forgot about his existence. (He also wasn’t black, so that argument would have been completely void...)

It has to be noted, however, that there is a slight ray of hope on the horizon. The idiotic author of the blog post does state in his conclusion that he is willing to change his (awful) practices for his future wife. However, I fear his chances of finding a woman willing to marry him in the first place are rather slim. I certainly wouldn’t wish to spend an extended period of time in the company of a man who was repulsed by the concept of oral sex, never mind accept him as my husband. Good luck though, ‘Moo Cow’. I hope you and your blow-up doll wife are very happy together.

So ladies, if you ever come across a man who isn’t hungry for what’s on offer, leave him to eat alone. I believe the Chinese round the corner from me does a particularly hearty Meal For One.

Monday, 24 December 2012

All I Want For Christmas Is... A Good Hard Fuck.




So in amongst his not-so-busy schedule of Christmas shopping, getting stoned, and working 37.5 hours a week, my boyfriend has completely failed on the sex front this Xmas season. Thus, I have become Scrouge. I ask you, how am I supposed to blog about sex when I myself am not getting any?! 

 Thankfully, I can still haul my sense of humour back out (it was nesting somewhere beside my bowels), and therefore bring to you the joyous combination of Christmas, sex, and the advertising industry, as well as the not quite so successful amalgamation of Christmas and sex toys.

 I must add that I was also going to include some Christmas sex positions (‘Jingle My Balls’ etc) but, to be completely honest with you, I just can’t face it right now. Excuse me, I’m off to cry into a turkey…

Here are some amusing Christmas adverts:
1) Durex Condoms
 'This Christmas, don't get anything you didn't wish for.'
So much for jolly Christmas spirit...

2) RFSU
Trust Sweden to sell sex toys in their local pharmacies. If this guy came (no pun intended) 
down my chimney, I think I'd be running for the hills. I wonder how many times the
artist vomited whilst drawing this picture.

3) Harvey Nichols  
I love this because it reminds me so much of me, Christmas 2010. 
(For more details, read my post entitled 'The Good, The Bad And The Slutty')

And some awful Christmas sex toys:

1) 'I Rub My Duckie'

So it's a Christmas bauble... with a duck inside... which vibrates?
Well that makes perfect sense...


2) Candy Cane G-String
I actually feel incredibly sorry for this guy.
I wonder how many times a week he went to the gym, only to model this monstrosity.

3) Santa Vibe
'Mrs. Claus is Cuming Tonight!' is she?
Shame no one fucking else is...

4) Ehhhh...?!
This looks offensive enough anyway, never mind the fact
that they've tried to make it look like a candy cane.
Imagine finding this in your Christmas stocking... Just imagine.


So there we have it, some prime examples of cracking Christmas commercialisation. Which one of the above would terrify you the most if you unwrapped it on Christmas day? Hopefully this blog post has cheered up those who, just like me, will be getting absolutely no sex whatsoever on Christmas day. I might just chuck on a santa hat and a pair of suspenders and pounce... Merry fucking Christmas everybody! Bah humbug. 

Paris x

Monday, 19 November 2012

A Little Less Conversation...



Occasionally I fantasize about binding my boyfriend to the bed, moving slowly upwards towards his face, gagging him… to make him shut the fuck up. Dirty chat itself poses no problem to me whatsoever, when it is done well. Unfortunately, this is rarely the case. “I’m gonna put my big fat baby maker inside your hole!”, “I’m gonna fill your ass with my cum, baby. This is how a real man fucks!” or “Daddy’s gonna fill you up, fuck your tight little cunt! He’s gonna make you scream with his big dick!” are just a couple of ways to guarantee you will be getting no sex that night, or possibly ever again. In your life. The latter in particular, given the use of the word ‘Daddy’, in combination with the switch to the third-person narrative.

Regrettably, it is not only in the bedroom where men fail to think before they speak. When a friend of mine got into an argument with her ex-boyfriend, he shouted that one of the main reasons that he was no longer happy in their relationship was because she had never taken his career seriously. He was working full time at Nando’s. (In the lowest possible position, might I add.)

The same friend also once had a drunken argument with a different ex. Afterwards, he headed back to their flat while she chose to stay out. She eventually returned home to find him in an incredibly upset state and, when she questioned what the hell was the matter, he informed her that he’d been so grieved by their argument that he had tried to kill himself… by holding a pillow over his own face for two hours. 

But let’s get back to sex, and ask ourselves, why is it that men assume that spewing an abundance of nonsensical profanities turns us on? What makes it worse is when, sometimes, for added measure, they even attempt to throw a compliment into the mix. ‘Suck me, beautiful’ and ‘Baby, you’re sooo tight’ were two particular favourites of mine.

I must confess however that, when it comes to talking dirty, I too am truly atrocious at it. I get overwhelmed by lexical choice and I develop a stutter to rival that of Gareth Gates (circa 2002). In the end, I admit defeat, and simply smile politely and nod in agreement with whatever lengthy monologue my boyfriend is professing. ‘I’m gonna stick my big hard dick in your dripping cunt’… ‘Ah... yes… me too.’

I think, therefore, that the true problem with dirty chat lies in the linguistics of it. Perhaps, like me, there are many other people who would love to serenade their partner with a mouthful of filth, but get too caught up in the vast amount of word choice. What, for example, do I call my vagina? ‘Cunt’ is too vulgar, ‘pussy’ is unoriginal and ‘vulva’ is just downright horrendous. Men, as always, have it easy. ‘Dick’. How nice and simple and inoffensive.

Maybe, then, the solution to our unintelligible stammering is a good old dirty text message. What’s better, really, than eating your sandwiches on your work break and receiving a message telling you just how hard you’re going to get fucked that evening by your boyfriend’s humongous cock? Plus, this comes with the added bonus of giving you an extended period of time in which to reply. And if you’re really stuck for a response, just Google ‘dirty chat examples’, select one at random and hit send. He’ll like it, trust me.


So men, today’s advice to you? For my sake, please, think before you speak. Worshipping its snugness may sound sexy in your head, but I very much doubt my vagina will be flattered. I don’t spread your legs and commend how wrinkly and pubescent your scrotum is. Take a few deep breaths first, calm yourselves. Know your boundaries. Tell me you want to be inside me, tell me how hard you are for me. Hell, even tell me you want my cum dripping off your face. Just don’t start glorifying my asshole. 




Monday, 15 October 2012

From Ukraine, With Love...



I’m sure you’ll have guessed by now, given the tone of my previous 3 blogs, that I am nothing if not an immense pessimistic. Thus, in my snug little cynical world, the idea of soul mates and everlasting love is nothing short of ludicrous. We live in a world with a population of 6,973,738,433 (or so claims the World Bank), around 50.3% of which is made up of men. And yet I met my boyfriend because we both live in the same city and, at one time, we both worked in the same workplace. And there are an enormous amount of couples who meet like this on a daily basis. Are they each other’s soul mate?  Do I think my boyfriend is mine? Of course I fucking don’t. How could he be? And yet I stay with him, day in, day out, while the real love of my life hunts for me hopelessly and desperately throughout his office situated somewhere on the outskirts of Ukraine. ‘I’m here, Oleksandr!! Come get me!!’

So is the problem that we are not searching hard enough for our potential everlasting love? Are we simply giving up too early and choosing to settle too soon? If one day we find ourselves standing at the alter and taking our vows of til death do us part, when we say ‘I do!’, are we actually groaning ‘You’ll do.’?

We are all riddled with flaws. I cannot deny that there are aspects of boyfriend that I would like to change. He can be stubborn and selfish, and sometimes I find myself wishing he would kiss me more, or hold my hand more often. He also has the worst feet I have ever seen and some stray black hairs on his back that he refuses to let me pluck out. We’re all searching for that ‘perfect person’, but if my boyfriend changed all these aspects of himself, surely I would simply seek out more faults (and more hairs). Am I being unfair? Evidently I’m not perfect either, and (as far as I’m aware anyway) he isn't currently composing a blog depicting all of my numerous imperfections. When, then, do we stop desiring more from someone, and learn to accept them for who they are, awful feet and all? If we choose to believe the hype, and there really is only one perfect person out there for each of us, does this mean we must hunt through over 3 billion men in order to find ‘the one’?! If we consider this, in addition to taking the phrase ‘nobody’s perfect’ as a given truth, then surely our lifelong search for them is doomed to failure before it has even truly begun.

Have you ever almost given up on your relationship, so composed an incredibly drunken list of the pros and the cons of your partner? ‘Fairly wealthy? Pro. Likes to tuck penis between legs and dress up in bras? Definite con.’ Maybe this is what people do pre-marriage proposal. If the good outweighs the bad, then they settle. And if they’ve already purchased an incredibly expensive ring before composing this list? Might as well go ahead with it regardless then! No turning back now.

As it stands in my cynical little world, I’m still composing a mental list of the pros and cons of marriage, and have so far failed to find any advantages whatsoever ( though I accept that everyone has a different slant on this argument.) My boyfriend, on the other hand, despite his hideous feet and the fact that he weighs about 2 stone less than I do (!), has many more pros on his list. He is an optimist to combat my pessimism, one of the all-round happiest people I’ve ever met, easy to talk to and a lot of fun to spend time with. He also gives incredible head and is, without a doubt, the best sex I’ve ever had. And, for some completely unfathomable reason, he loves me too. My apologies, Oleksandr, but it seems that, for now, you will have to continue your search of Ukraine. I’m staying right here with him. 


This blog is dedicated to N****,
Because we have been going out for a year today.
Thank you,
I never thought it was possible to love somebody like this xxx

Friday, 5 October 2012

Go Big or Go Home?
























So, whilst doing some online research to determine what was to be my next fascinating blog topic, I stumbled across a rather interesting article on our good old friend the penis. (When I say ‘stumbled across’, obviously I mean I typed ‘penis size’ directly into the Google search engine). This article (http://www.netdoctor.co.uk/sex_relationships/facts/penissize.htm) written by a certain Dr David Devlin, describes how previous statistics regarding penis size given in both medical books and press articles are likely to have been inaccurate, and that the average penile length is in fact significantly smaller than previously claimed.

As a result, research into this area will no longer be counting on ‘notoriously unreliable’ self-measurement, given that ‘the results tend to be skewed by people who falsely claim to be 10 or 11 inches long’ (!).  However, it is not simply these ridiculous overestimaters that are to blame, as the author, our good friend David, also raises the issue of men who are using ‘inaccurate rulers or ancient tape measures.’ Have we really all now become so money-hungry that stationers are purposefully selling us unreliable and prehistoric measuring equipment?

Let’s be serious for a moment, we are all fully aware that no two penises are the same. We've all heard the horror stories of the ‘chode’ penis. (For those of you who are blissfully ignorant of this concept, it signifies a penis which is wider than it is long). Likewise, nobody wants to be like the world famous Jonah Falcon, 13.5 inches and girlfriendless for the past 12 years. So this got me thinking: Can we honestly continue reassuring men sporting 3-inchers that it’s not the size but rather the motion in the ocean that actually counts? And how big really is too big?

Now I have a story for you. I met a guy when I was travelling China. He was 26, from London, stood at about 7ft tall and had a cock to match. The first time his monstrous penis and I became acquainted was on the top bunk of a sleeper train travelling from Xi’an to Yangzhou (classy girl that I am). I proceeded to go down on him, only to get the shock of my life when I discovered what was lurking under the covers waiting for me. I promise that I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I could barely fit it in my mouth. Unfortunately, I never got to experience what it would have been like to have that monstrosity inside me, (trust me, I tried!) as I’m entirely convinced that he had a long term girlfriend awaiting him (and it) back at home.

My friend, on the other hand, dated a guy for 3 years who was nicknamed ‘the Pringle’s tube’. I don’t think her vagina has ever fully recovered.

Fortunately for me, my boyfriend has a lovely penis. It’s big, but not so big that it becomes synonymous with terrifying. It’s also quite nice to look at (no pubes hanging out the bell end, no over-sized swollen balls etc.) I have also never been this attracted to anyone in my entire life. My ex, on the other hand, had a perfectly fine sized penis… Actually, come to think of it, maybe it was slightly smaller than your average… Either way, towards the end of our completely failing 5 year relationship, the sexual attraction had entirely disappeared and I had no desire whatsoever for that to be anywhere near my vagina.

My conclusion therefore is this: When it comes down to it, maybe it is neither the size nor the motion in the ocean that really counts, but rather how hot you both are for each other. Why does it matter if he is slightly smaller than your average, if you want him to throw you down, tear off your pants and stick it in you anyway? So Dr David, my advice to you? Stop writing articles in a futile attempt to justify your own penile insecurities, and instead go out and find a woman who makes you feel like the world will end if you don’t have her then and there. If she feels the same attraction for you, (you haven’t included a self-portrait in your article, so I’m not sure how likely this is) then you’re sorted. Unless, of course, your penis is in fact 2 inches long. In that case, I’m sorry sweetheart, but no amount of self-indulgent, ego conditioning articles can save you now.